


Playing Doctor

by Flymeto_themoon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Doctor Iwaizumi, Equally innocent volleyball player Hanamaki, Innocent nurse Matsukawa, Iwaizumi's just kind of done, M/M, Oikawa pines, Professional Volleyball Player Oikawa, bc I wrote this in a much much much better time, completely ignoring the rules of COVID, he pines a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25886980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flymeto_themoon/pseuds/Flymeto_themoon
Summary: But now, as Hajime twirls the pen in his hands, still stalling in front of Oikawa Tooru’s door, he doesn’t feel very professional or competent.In fact, his chest feels fluttery and his stomach seems upset and if he was a weaker person, Hajime would walk away right now. He’d screw Oikawa’s flirty smiles and dumb jokes and dump the bastard onto some other doctor who would be better handled to deal with him.But Iwaizumi Hajime is no quitter and Oikawa will not be the thing to break him.So Hajime sucks in a deep breath and opens the door in one fast motion, something akin to ripping off a bandaid. This will mark the moment Hajime reinstates professional behavior toward his patient.“Iwa-chan!”Hajime wants to turn around and run out the door.After a sabotage attack (read: complete accident) involving Kageyama and some slippery bleachers, Oikawa is stuck with a fractured leg and orders to stay away from volleyball for six weeks. This would normally be a problem, but luckily he has a hot doctor to nurse him back to health.Also, there’s a side plot involving a nurse who makes way too many jokes at Oikawa’s expense. Makki blushes a lot.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

Tooru wants to yell and scream and maybe punch a hole through the wall but unfortunately, he is unable to do any of that at this moment. Instead, he’s stuck nursing a leg bent the wrong way, staring resolutely out the car window with a pout. He somewhat registers his best friend’s words but doesn’t pay them any attention.

No, Tooru is too busy cursing Tobio-chan and his future kids and grandkids and great-grandkids and so on to listen to Makki right now. His friend will just have to be patient and wait for Oikawa to bless him with his attention in a little bit.

Unfortunately, Makki is not a patient person, never has been, and prods Tooru with a finger when they’re at the next red traffic light.

In response, Tooru flashes him a fake pageant smile, pretending like he’s been listening the whole time. “I totally agree, Makki.”

Hanamaki shoots him a deadpan look, raising his almost nonexistent eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. Totally. One hundred percent. Completely agree.”

After giving him a long probing look, Makki finally says in a monotone voice, “Oh good. Because I just said that you should write a formal apology to Kageyama-kun and read it out in front of the whole team on Monday.”

The light turns green right after that remark and Tooru’s friend looks away before he catches Tooru’s wounded look. Or maybe he does catch it and chooses to ignore it; it’s hard to tell with that boy.

“Ma-kki” Oikawa drawls, “Don’t be a jerk. You saw what the brat did to me and you’re still going to defend him?”

Shrugging, his friend makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. “I don’t know. From where I was standing it looked like it was mostly your fault.”

At this Tooru gasps. “He’s the one who pushed me into the bleachers!”

Makki’s monotone voice isn’t budging. “You say that and I say you slipped on the water you squirted from your bottle while making a face at him.”

There’s a pause.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

Makki looks smug and in retaliation, Tooru turns his head the other way, glaring at the passing buildings through the tinted glass.

Currently, Makki’s car is flying by a high school building that reminds Tooru a lot of the one he attended a few years ago. It’s large, rigid and imposing and it takes him back to his school days that seem so long ago now.

Outside there is a team running laps on the track while its captain directs them with a loudspeaker. Tooru can’t tell what sport the boys are a part of, but he can picture his old team in their place. It makes his heart ache and he clutches at his chest in order to keep himself together.

Memories of running so hard that his chest heaved flash through his mind, as well as times when Tooru would stay in the gym after practice, perfecting his serves or tosses by himself for hours as the sun sank lower in the sky and the stars came out. He had been so dedicated, so in love with the sport. He still was all those things and that is what makes his situation so awful to think about.

Tooru doesn’t even mind the pain that his twisted and cracked leg is causing him. That pain is excruciating but only temporary and he can deal with that.

No, what’s more painful is the idea of never playing volleyball again, of never jumping up to block a spike or diving to hit a receive up into the air. Of never setting a ball up for one of his team members to hit, all because of one dumb accident.

And Tooru is fully aware that this was an accident. As much as he’d like to pettily blame his kouhai for his broken leg, that just wouldn’t be fair. This was all Tooru’s fault through and through and he’d have to live with the consequences. He’d been distracted and dumb, not looking where he stepped like a stumbling first-year and now he had a likely broken leg.

He can still remember the pure panic as he fell onto the slick gym floor. There was a moment when the world had moved in slow motion. Tooru had felt his foot land wrongly and he had realized what was happening but could do nothing about it; he’d never felt so utterly helpless before. Then there was a sickening crack that rang through the gym and Tooru had gritted his teeth against the pain as coaches ran over and someone called for help.

All Tooru had been able to think were the same words over and over on repeat, tumbling like clothes in a washer. ‘What have I done?’

When he speaks again, Tooru’s voice is quiet and anxious, “Makki, what am I going to do?”

There is a short pause as his friend decides what to say. At last, his monotone voice rings out on top of some shitty pop song in the background. “You’ll be yourself and get over this like you do with everything else.”

The weight is still heavy in Tooru’s chest, but Makki’s words make the load feel just a couple pounds lighter. Tooru is grateful and expresses it in the only way he knows how.

“Oh, I didn’t know you felt this strongly about me, Makki! What a heartfelt love confession from my oldest friend!”

Hanamaki just rolls his eyes, choosing to stay silent until they reach the hospital. He’s always been a man of few words and the car ride is comfortable for the next few minutes as Tooru stares at the parks, office buildings, and homes that pass by.

That is until they pull into one of the establishment’s many parking lots and Tooru remembers he’s deathly afraid of hospitals.

After much shoving and grumbling by Makki, and mumbles of ‘he needs some kind of handler,’ and ‘they don’t pay me enough for this,’ Tooru is finally done with his x-rays and nurse check-ups. As expected, his leg is broken and will need a cast in order to heal.

A cast means sitting on the bench for six to eight weeks and hobbling around in crutches everywhere else. A cast means rotting away as other players like Hanamaki and Yahaba and Kageyama surpass him until he is eventually kicked off his volleyball team.

In essence, a cast means his life is over.

Tooru tells as much to Hanamaki and his friend offers absolutely no support, telling him that he’s ‘being a drama queen’ and that ‘six weeks isn’t even that long of a time.’

Knowing better, Tooru ignores his best friend and lets his thoughts spiral further and further into a future of inconsequence and normalcy, all away from volleyball. By the time there is a knock on the door that signals the doctor’s arrival, Tooru has worked himself into quite a state and knows that this doctor won’t be happy with him. Even Tooru is aware of how difficult he gets when he’s in ‘one of his moods’.

Such moods include many snippy and biting comments to whoever is unfortunate enough to have to deal with him. He can already feel the insults on his tongue, all about to be directed at some graying middle-aged man who will assure Tooru that his leg will be fine.

Tooru knows his leg won’t be fine. And nothing else will be fine until his leg is fine. And so, Tooru will have no choice to snap at some doctor who will try to delude him into thinking that his leg is fine. Stupid theoretical doctor, Tooru just explained that nothing will be fine again.

The door creaks open and the insults feel like they are coating Tooru’s tongue in armor as he goes off to battle. He’s ready and Makki looks like he’s bracing himself as well, tense shoulders belying his impassive expression.

Then the doctor takes a step in, coming into full view and every single one of Tooru’s insults dissolve away like cotton candy.

His mouth tastes sweet and useless thoughts flutter through his head. What’s an insult? I’ve never heard of it. All I know are chocolate brown eyes and spiky black hair and arms so toned that I want to drool while I run my hands along them.

And then one thought sticks out amongst the countless others; Tooru’s doctor is _fine._


	2. Chapter 2

Iwaizumi Hajime is finally at that stable point in his life that he has always dreamed of. Thirty years old, a certified orthopedist done with his five-year residency, and finally making enough money to not have to worry about having single digits in his bank account, he is at peace.

Sure, the student loans are giving him a headache and patients aren’t always the most cooperative people in the world, but none of that matters. He loves his job and there is nowhere he’d rather be than at Seijoh Hospital.

Even during days like this one. It’s been a bit of a busy day and Hajime has spent most of it running from patient to patient, leaving very little time for relaxation in between. In just a few hours, he's had to help patients of all sorts, from an elderly woman with a broken hipbone, to a small boy who broke his arm while climbing a tree. It has been an interesting day, but a little headache-inducing. 

Despite this, Hajime resolves himself to become focused on his new patient. Headaches aside, he still has at least a couple more hours ahead of him. Tibial fractures are common, but that doesn’t mean this will be a quick appointment. Putting on a cast takes time, as does explaining the injury to the patient.

Before heading to the room, he takes a quick scan of the patient information once more, mostly to commit it to memory. He'd studied it in detail while the nurse was taking x rays but it can't hurt to take a quick refresh. Hajime is nothing if not thorough.

As he makes his way to his office, he can feel the presence of someone else sliding up next to him.

A familiar nurse’s deep voice rings out and Hajime immediately recognizes it as Matsukawa. “Do you need any help with this one? Non-displaced tibial fracture, right?”

Hajime nods but keeps his eyes on his clipboard. He taps once on the patient form with a bone-shaped pen. “I’ll need to put on a long leg cast. You up for that?”

Matsukawa makes an annoyed sound but Hajime knows he’ll agree anyway; he always does. “What a pain.”

“I’ll call you after I explain everything to the patient.”

Another annoyed sound comes from the man walking next to him, but when Hajime chances a glance at the nurse, the man is nodding.

Hajime has known Matsukawa since he first started his residency at Seijoh.

Fresh off his graduation from medical school, Hajime had begun his residency at the hospital with a little too much confidence despite having almost no real experience. Looking back, it made a sense that he had felt that way; Hajime had graduated top of his class and had been given sparkling recommendations from professors.

But still, he had been a little too smug and needed to be knocked down a few pegs. Matsukawa was more than happy to be the one to do so.

The nurse's first words to Hajime had been, “I can just tell that you’re a cocky shit without you even saying one word.”

The deadpan delivery of the words had made Hajime laugh, and he didn’t even feel offended. In his option, one of Hajime’s best qualities has always been his ability to take criticism and as time went on, Hajime had taken heed of Matsukawa’s criticism, putting them into use as he helped patients.

Matsukawa’s reliable work ethic made Hajime feel great respect for the nurse and in time, the nurse began to feel the same towards Hajime.

They became close friends and Matsukawa had been Hajime’s biggest supporter during his residency. Without his support, Hajime isn’t sure he would have made it through the difficult moments of these five years.

Back in the present, Matsukawa is a seasoned head nurse with a sharp tongue usually used to make some sort of sarcastic remark. But he’s reliable and hardworking, and there is no one Hajime would rather work with than him.

“Good luck Iwaizumi.”

He glances at the nurse and then focuses back on his clipboard. “Don’t need it but thanks.”

Matsukawa snorts, claps Hajime on the back and walks over to one of his junior nurses, a small man named Hinata who is scrambling with papers and nervously fluttering around.

Hajime can just make out Matsukawa’s stern words of, “Hinata, this isn’t a performance. I don’t understand why you get so nervous every single time.”

Then, Hajime is in front of the door. He looks at the name and age of the patient one last time before he meets him.

Oikawa Tooru. 29. Scratchy handwriting has made notes on the paper, and the added details are specific.

When Iwaizumi Hajime walks through that newly repainted door, he doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it surely isn’t what who he finds sitting in his office.

There are two men, shoulders and bodies so large that they almost look comical sitting in the too-small chairs. Hajime’s eyes are drawn to the first man, sitting closest to the door, and the doctor can’t help the way his breath catches slightly in his throat.

The man is so gorgeous; it’s unfair really. Light brown hair is piled in a perfectly messy nest on his head, and his brown eyes are so light that they seem to sparkle, even under the harsh hospital lighting. Long legs encased in short athletic shorts are held out in front of his chair, and Hajime can immediately tell which leg is broken by the way he’s cradling it, slightly bent and propped off the floor a few centimeters.

As Hajime takes a step in, he notes that the man’s eyes are wide in what Hajime guesses is nervousness. The man’s mouth is slack, expression set in.. surprise? Hajime can’t tell.

A brown-haired man is sitting next to the first and he looks slightly surprised as well, eyebrows raised slightly. But instead of looking at Hajime, his eyes are trained on the man next to him.

“Hello,” he nods at them both, beginning introductions. “My name is Iwaizumi Hajime and I’ll be your doctor today. It’s nice to meet you.”

The second man nods and meets Hajime’s handshake halfway. “Hanamaki Takahiro.”

Hajime nods and moves his gaze over to the first, gorgeous man, who he is assuming is his patient, Oikawa.

That man, however, is still frozen in place, mouth still slack and eyes wide. It’s only when Hanamaki coughs that he breaks out of the pose.

Immediately the man’s expression changes and he’s smiling widely, posed confidently. He meets Hajime’s handshake and looks his doctor in the eye.

“I’m Oikawa Tooru, your new patient,” he says in a syrupy voice, hand flexing in Hajime's grip.

Nodding, Hajime moves to pull his hand back out of the handshake, but the man is still holding firm. A smirk is on Oikawa’s face and he winks once at his doctor. Hajime waits for the man to let go of his hand, but the seconds continue and his patient is still holding strong.

Well, this is getting a little awkward.

“Uh,” Hajime begins, not really sure how to go about this. His hand is getting a little sweaty encased in Oikawa’s grip. “You can let go of my hand now, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa drops Hajime’s hand immediately like he’s been burned, eyes widening and cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

Hanamaki snorts loudly at the exchange and Oikawa’s head whips around to him, shooting him an angry glare. The two are engaged in a silent conversation for a few moments and Hanamaki looks smug.

Hajime coughs to break it up when it gets to be a bit much, not really in the mood to be sitting in this office for hours.

“So,” he begins, “how did you break your leg?”

Oikawa’s face screws up in distaste and lets out one long sigh before opening his mouth to reply. “It’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

Well, yes, Hajime thinks. That _is_ why he asked the question, after all. He prepares himself for some theatrics.

Oikawa’s voice is sing-songy as he recants his tale. “I’m Japan’s resident volleyball sweetheart, maybe you’ve heard of me? I’m the setter for one of the most accomplished teams in the world.”

When Hajime offers no sort of response apart from a long blink, Oikawa continues.

“A few years ago, a promising young athlete named Tobio-chan came to the team. Now, he’s also a setter but he hasn’t gotten as much court time as me, so obviously he became jealous. I never thought that it would come to this, but earlier today, he got so envious that he saw an opportunity to get rid of me and pushed me off the bleachers.”

Oikawa clutches his jersey right above his heart, screwing his eyes up in mock pain. “The last thing I saw before I hit the ground was Tobio-chan’s taunting smile. It seemed possessed on my dear kouhai’s face. I think it will haunt me until the day I die!”

One of Oikawa’s arms is reaching out towards some imaginary person, the other still clutching to his jersey. He lowers his head as though he’s some sort of shitty actor, wrapping up a dramatic scene.

Hajime immediately feels a need to side with this ‘Tobio-chan,’ but begins jotting down notes on his clipboard anyways, handwriting an almost illegible chicken scratch.

Hanamaki’s voice rings out before Hajime has the chance to write more than a couple words. Those words include ‘bleachers’ and ‘fall.’

Hanamaki’s voice is monotone and lifeless when he speaks. “Ignore him. The only true thing he said was about the bleachers. He slipped and fell and landed wrong on his foot. He started screaming so I got him to the hospital as fast as I could.”

“Makki!” Oikawa yells out, voice indignant. The only way Hajime could describe his patient’s features would be utterly betrayed.

Humming, Hajime turns his full attention to Hanamaki, who seems leagues more reliable that Oikawa.

“About what time would you say this happened?”

Hanamaki takes out his phone to check the current time. “About an hour ago, so I’d say about 3:30.”

Hajime jots down a few more notes and then stands up, pulling out the envelope that contains Oikawa’s x rays. He flicks off the light switch and hangs the scans of Oikawa’s lower on a glowing panel on the wall.

The scans have been cropped to only show Oikawa’s lower leg, the part where the break occurred. In the long tibia bone of Oikawa’s shin, there is a clear cut line. It runs horizontally near the middle of the bone. 

Hajime stands next to the x-ray and points at it with his pen, gesturing to relevant areas as he talks.

“The tibia is one of the longest bones in your leg. Usually, it’s broken by high impact collisions or as a result of repeated stress in athletes.”

He points to Oikawa’s x-ray, tapping at the fracture with his pen.

“You’re lucky. The bones are still in place which means no surgery and quicker recovery time,” he looks at Oikawa and expects some questions but the man’s eyes are glazed, face fixed on Hajime’s and focused nowhere near the x-ray.

“Uh,” he grunts, eyebrows knit in confusion. “You getting this, Oikawa?”

The man simply nods, and Hajime isn’t sure he’s paying attention but decides to keep going anyways. At least Hanamaki seems invested, busy jotting down notes in the black notebook he brought along.

“Because this bone is so large, it takes quite a bit longer than other broken bones to heal. Minimally, we say about three months.”

At this, Oikawa finally sits up straight and participates. “I’m a volleyball player. Can’t we shorten that time a little?”

Hajime levels a serious look at his patient. It’s a little hard to see Oikawa in the dark, but Hajime is sure that he has a challenging look on his face.

“No, Oikawa-san. You need to allow your leg to heal and overworking it or putting weight on your leg prematurely may lead to permanent damage.”

Oikawa makes a noise like he wants to argue again, so Hajime continues. “I’ll say it again. Not letting your leg heal properly will lead to permanent damage. If you don’t let your tibia heal, you may never play again.”

The words are ominous and foreboding and Hajime lets them hang in the air for the few seconds as he walks back to the light switch. Harsh, yellow-tinted light fills the room and Hajime can finally see Oikawa properly.

The man’s body looks relaxed, but Hajime recognizes the tenseness lying underneath, the nervousness hidden under the cocky smile etched on Oikawa’s face.

Dragging a chair in front of Oikawa, he leans close to his patient so the man can’t look anywhere else. Oikawa sits up a little straighter as Hajime gets close, fake smile falling and eyes growing wide.

Using his sternest voice, Hajime tells him straight. “Oikawa. There’s no need to be worried. If you listen to what I’m telling you, your leg will heal up just fine.”

He offers his most comforting smile, which Matsukawa has told him on many occasion is not very comforting at all.

Oikawa looks pacified at least, and a light blush graces his cheeks, probably as a result of embarrassment for his comments earlier. Hajime smiles again and moves his chair back to his desk and his computer.

He types at it for a few seconds, entering in the information for the procedure he is about to perform.

He turns slightly and finds that Oikawa is already looking at him. Raising an eyebrow, he asks, “any questions, Oikawa-san?”

The man shakes his head mutely, blush still evident in the fading pink of his cheeks.

Hanamaki lets out a snort, drawing the attention of both Oikawa and Hajime. In a monotone voice (one that reminds Hajime a lot of Matsukawa), he says, “Oikawa here has turned mute, so I guess I’ll have to ask the questions.”

Oikawa squeaks indignantly, opening his mouth to say something, but Hanamaki continues, undeterred.

“You said no surgery, correct?”

Hajime nods. “Yes. Because it is a non-displaced fracture, a cast will be all he needs.”

Hanamaki pauses as he writes a few words down in his black notebook. Then he’s talking again. “Will he be able to do any physical therapy with the cast on? We have a tournament coming up in a few months, and I know Oikawa doesn’t want to miss that.”

Hajime hums, tapping at his clipboard where he wrote down some quick notes about treatment. “He will need a long cast for about four weeks. With that on, he can’t move his leg at all, and will be mostly restricted to bed.”

Oikawa sighs dramatically, tilting his head back and looking at the ceiling. Both of the other men in the room ignore him.

“After those four weeks, I may be able to switch to a Sarmiento cast.”

Hajime rifles around his desk for a piece of scratch paper and finally finds one. Placing it on the table in front of Oikawa and Hanamaki, he roughly sketches out both the long and Sarmiento casts.

He taps at the long cast first. In his messy drawing, the cast is shown to snake up the leg, stopping quite high at the upper thigh. “This is the long cast. It’s very restricting, and movement is difficult, if not impossible. We will give you a wheelchair to use while you have it on.”

Then he taps at the Sarmiento cast, a shorter thing, only going so high as to stop right below the knee. “This is the Sarmiento, or patella tendon bearing cast. As soon as this is on, Oikawa will be able to start putting weight on his leg, and after about 3 weeks, he’ll be able to completely walk on it. Physical therapy can begin at that time.”

Hanamaki is nodding, jotting down more notes, but Oikawa just scrunches his nose up at the drawings, bringing his face closer to study them.

There is a pause and Hajime thinks that Oikawa will have some sort of question about the process.

“You’re a really bad drawer.”

Hajime is so caught off guard, he can’t help it; he sputters and yanks the paper backward, reacting defensively.

“Well there’s a reason I went to medical school and not art school,” he snaps.

Oikawa immediately looks amused, eyes crinkling up with the beginnings of a genuine smile.

Hajime can feel warmth pooling in his face, and immediately coughs, straightening up and turning back towards the computer.

What caused that outburst? It’s not like Hajime to slip up and lose professionalism like that. It must just be the result of his long day, he reasons. Even the most seasoned doctors can slip up from time to time and he thinks that every person would react in some way to Oikawa.

Oikawa’s voice drags him out of his thoughts. His voice is back to syrupy as he says, “Mind if I keep this, Hajime? You know, for future reference?”

Hajime snaps his gaze back to Oikawa and can’t help the way his eyes narrow slightly. _Hajime?_

“Oikawa-san, I’d prefer it if you called me Iwaizumi.”

Oikawa pouts, a full bottom lip jutting out while eyebrows etch together in mock-sadness. “But that’s so boring!” he says, drawing out the last word.

Hajime shrugs and pulls his attention back to the computer. “Well, it is my name.”

The room stays silent for a few moments as Hajime finishes typing in notes. It’s only when he’s standing up and preparing to get Matsukawa to help put on the cast, that Oikawa finally speaks up again. 

“I think I’m going to call you Iwa-chan.”

Hajime had been turning and taking a step towards the door when the words finally register in his brain. He stops mid-step, body freezing as he processes the unfamiliar words.

_Iwa-chan?_

Then Hajime is turning around and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep the irritation off his face. Oikawa looks very smug and proud of himself, a wide, toothy smile set in place.

Hajime takes a deep breath to calm himself. In a surprisingly controlled voice, he asks, “what did you just call me?”

"Iwa-chan! It's absolutely perfect. I love it."

"No." Hajime's voice is firm and open to no arguments. A lesser man would give in to that voice. Unfortunately, Oikawa is not one of those men.

Oikawa completely ignores his doctor, turning to the other man in the room.

"It's perfect, isn't it, Makki?" The man's eyes are practically sparkling.

Hanamaki is much less excited. He's rubbing his temples like he has a headache but gives no response to his friend. Nor does he come to the doctor’s aid. All he offers is a simple, “I’m sorry, Iwaizumi-san.”

Hajime clutches his pen a little tighter, sure that his face is radiating disbelief. “I-" he pauses to collect his thoughts. “I’ll be right back with a nurse so we can put on your cast.”

Then he’s out the door, still not sure that just happened.

Iwa-chan? Really? What is this guy, five years old?

“Are you all right, Oikawa-san?” Hajime’s voice is concerned as he wraps up the leg. Throughout the process, Oikawa had been fine, offering sarcastic comments to both Matsukawa and Hajime as they wrapped up his ankle.

But as soon as Hajime had begun to encase his shin, the area with the broken bone, Oikawa had begun swearing under his breath. Hajime isn’t sure the man’s even aware that he’s doing it.

“Do you want to take a quick break?” Hajime glances down at the leg that Matsukawa is propping up. The nurse is careful not to apply too much pressure, but Hajime has no doubt that feeling anything against the broken area is excruciatingly painful.

Oikawa’s teeth are gritted and he speaks through them. “No, we’re all good Iwa-chan. You can keep going.”

The nurse and doctor work in silence for a few minutes, until Matsukawa finally decides to speak up.

“Iwa-chan?” is all that Matsukawa asks, a smirk evident in his voice.

Hajime can feel a blush warming his cheeks but he chooses to ignore the question, keeping focused on the task at hand.

He wraps around more of the gauze, smoothing with liquid afterward and continuing the process all the way up to Oikawa’s upper thigh. At the end, he wraps the light blue tape around the entirety of the cast and steps back to inspect his work.

The leg is bent at the perfect angle for recovery and Oikawa no longer looks pale and sweating. In fact, Oikawa looks happily at the cast.

“This color is great, Iwa-chan. How did you know it’s my favorite?”

Hajime shrugs in response. He had picked out that color to match Oikawa’s jersey color, as a silent type of reassurance that the man will be back to playing his favorite sport in no time. Obviously, he doesn’t say any of that out loud.

“Lucky guess,” is all he grunts.

He claps Matsukawa on the shoulder as the nurse makes his way out of the office. Matsukawa shoots him a smirk and mouths ‘Iwa-chan,’ discreetly. Hajime prays that Oikawa doesn’t notice.

It seems as though luck is on Hajime's side because Oikawa stays oblivious. Oikawa’s eyes narrow in on that contact of Hajime’s hand on Matsukawa’s shoulder, but says nothing. He just looks back down, tilting his leg back and forth, admiring the color of the cast once more.

“Okay, no weight can be put on this at all. This wheelchair is your new best friend.” Hajime rolls a worn black wheelchair towards Oikawa, locking it in place in front of him.

“Sorry, Makki. It looks like you’re being replaced,” Oikawa says as Hajime helps him into the wheelchair. It’s a bit of a process, as Oikawa’s leg is a little long and it takes Hajime a few extra seconds to prop it up.

Hanamaki rolls his eyes in response. Thanking Hajime, he rolls his friend out of the office.

Oikawa’s last words are a happy, ‘See you in a couple days, Iwa-chan~” as he’s wheeled out.

As soon as the door closes, Hajime slumps down in his chair, head propped up by his arms as he nurses a budding headache. That man is just so much. He required all of Hajime’s attention and his suggestive little comments had kept Hajime on guard throughout the entire appointment.

He’s not looking forward to Saturday.


	3. Chapter 3

Takahiro isn’t quite sure when his name changed from Hanamaki Takahiro to ‘Oikawa’s Professional Babysitter,' but that’s where his life is right about now. It’s Oikawa’s fourth checkup at Seijoh hospital, and _of course_ his other team members had been too busy to take over carpool. 

Today, after the team’s afternoon practice, Takahiro had looked over at his teammates, all of whom were avoiding eye contact and packing up their things faster than he’d ever seen. 

Before he could even take one step towards the bench, Watari had stuffed everything in his black bag, shorts hanging halfway out one zipper, and ran toward the door yelling, _“Have a good day, Hanamaki-senpai!”_ The younger players were quick to follow. 

_“Hey, Yahaba,_ Takahiro had begun, getting cut off immediately by the man’s pale hand, held an inch away from Takahiro's face. 

_“Don’t want to drive him. Sorry.”_

Oikawa’s indignant squawk had been ignored by the last stragglers in the gym. 

_“Kyoutani,”_ Takahiro tried, but the player had long since left. He had been silent in his leave, and Takahiro pictured him tiptoeing out of the gym as him and Yahaba talked. 

Kageyama had been the only one to offer his help, but Takahiro had waved him off. He didn’t want to get the poor boy beheaded by the Great King. 

And so, Takahiro was put on chauffeur duty, _again,_ like he had for the past four hospital trips. He has a sneaking suspicion he’s paying for some sort of sin in a past life. It must have been pretty serious to be saddled with the likes of Oikawa.

“Do you think Iwa-chan will be happy to see me? We haven’t been face-to-face in so long,” Oikawa says once they are in Iwaizumi’s office. 

It has only been two days, but that must seem like an eternity in Oikawa’s world. 

Yes, Takahiro reasons, it must have been a very serious sin. A past-life Takahiro must have spit on old people in his free time. It was a sin deserving of punishment. 

Oikawa’s voice is saying something else but Takahiro doesn’t really register whatever it is. He’s too busy contemplating reincarnation possibilities. In any case, Takahiro probably isn't missing much. He has a feeling that Oikawa is talking about Iwaizumi’s arms again. 

A soft knock on the door breaks up their not-conversation. Oikawa sighs dramatically and Takahiro wants to do the same. While Oikawa has been absolutely _'_ _charming’_ towards Iwaizumi, he’s been dreadful to all the nurses.

But then a familiar face pops through the door, and Takahiro can’t suppress his smile. Matsukawa sees Takahiro and smirks back, one side of his mouth lifting a little higher than the other. The expression makes Takahiro’s heart skip a beat and he can actually feel the unnatural sensation in his chest. Takahiro’s first thought is: _Well, that was a little unsettling._ Takahiro’s second thought comes soon afterward. 

_Matsukawa is pretty hot._

“Hello, Oikawa. How are you feeling today?”

“Oh, I’m doing wonderful, _Mattsun~_ ” Oikawa sings. “I’m ready to be checked by my lovely doctor.”

Matsukawa sits down in front of the computer, typing in a long password before the screen lights up to a sterile, light blue background. “Mattsun? Is that another one of your weird nicknames?”

Oikawa shrugs and Hanamaki answers for him. 

“Don’t fight it. It’ll be less painful if you just accept and move on.”

The nurse hums distractedly, not bothering to look at Hanamaki or Oikawa. “So this is a regular thing with him?”

“The team’s pretty sure it’s because Oikawa can’t actually remember anyone’s name so he covers it up with extravagant nicknames.”

The bark of a nurse’s laugh. It’s deep and throaty and Makki has to turn the side of his head to hide a blush. His eyes zero down on a crack in the wall. That's got to be some sort of safety violation.

“It’d make sense to me.”

Silence fills the room as Matsukawa rifles under the desk, digging for his equipment. Small clangs can be heard every few seconds.

“Okay, Oikawa. Just going to do all the normal stuff: blood pressure, weight, yada, yada.”

Oikawa nods and shows his disinterest by holding a hand up to his face, admiring his nails.

After the measurements have been taken - complete with an annoyed huff by Oikawa as he stood on the measuring scale. _“Something is wrong with your scale, Mattsun. I did not gain two pounds.”_ \- Takahiro tries his hand at wooing Matsukawa.

“So how is it, you know?”

Matsukawa lifts one furry eyebrow up at Takahiro. “Not sure. You’re going to have to elaborate.”

Takahiro coughs, “being a nurse.” No response. “Is it.. fun?” 

Takahiro curses his awkwardness in his head as his cheeks heat up. He feels the urge to run out of the room right about now, but he’ll stay strong for his friend’s health. Sorta, maybe. He’s probably staying more for another one of those chuckles.

Matsukawa’s smirk is teasing. “Right now it’s definitely feeling that way.”

 _Well_ , the word echoes in Takahiro’s head as his chest does another one of those skip-a-beat things. He has no choice but to get Matsukawa’s number. But then the nurse is packing up his things, and it’s too late: missed opportunities and all that.   


  
Oikawa has been suspiciously quiet the entire time Matsukawa was in the room, and now that the nurse has left, Takahiro isn’t looking forward to hearing what the setter has to say.

When Takahiro looks back at his friend, Oikawa has that dangerous, curious gleam in his eyes that just screams: _'_ _danger, danger.’_

It’s the one that means Oikawa is about to comment on a friend’s embarrassing secret, or berate a teammate for missing a set, or launch into one of his weird schemes. Basically, it’s a look that Takahiro does not want to see right now.

“So talkative today! Is it possible that my friend finally has a crush on somebody?”

Takahiro holds a hand out; one palm lies flat toward Oikawa, the other holds the bridge of his nose to ward off an impending headache. “Oikawa. Don’t.”

Oikawa’s voice is singsongy, and Takahiro senses the trademarked smugness. “But I really think you should-”

“Oikawa. _Don’t_. I’m serious.” Takahiro holds up his pointer finger and thumb about an inch apart. “I’m already this close to dumping your ass and leaving Kageyama to bring you to and from this hospital.”

A dramatic gasp. “You’re bluffing!”

Takahiro crosses his arms and stares down an amused Oikawa. Takahiro’s eyes just say: _try me._

Oikawa holds his hands up in surrender, but his eyes are still crinkled up, hinting at a barely-concealed smile. It’s about as subtle as that the man can get; Takahiro supposes he should be grateful.

“Okay, I’ll give. But you still have a really dark blush on your face, so I don’t know-” he trails off and the smile isn’t very concealed anymore.

Now Takahiro’s fingers are a millimeter apart. “This close, Oikawa.”

“I was kidding~” the singsongy voice has made a comeback. “This is why you’re single, Makki. Always so serious!”

Clipboard in one hand and glasses hooked onto the pocket of his scrubs, Hajime takes a deep breath and fiddles with the papers on his clipboard, stalling before he has to walk into the room holding one, 'Oikawa Tooru'.

Whatever his patient has in store for Hajime, he'll be sure to take it in stride, or at least that's what the doctor keeps telling himself.

In truth, Hajime has no idea what to expect from his flirty patient. The man is so confident, so witty, so absolutely infuriating, that it unnerves the doctor. And that's saying something, because nothing unnerves Iwaizumi Hajime.

While still in rotation, Hajime and his fellow future doctors had been on duty when a man was run into the hospital on a stretcher, EMT's handing him over with rushed shouts and commands to awaiting emergency room staff.

The man had been in particularly bad shape, the worst that Hajime had ever seen. Long gashes and dried blood coated him body, legs and arms twisted into unnatural angles. Hajime would later find out that the man's injuries had been from a nasty car accident with a semi truck. He'd crashed headfirst and when the emergency techs had made it onto the scene, his body was twisted around his car, barely clinging to life while shallow breaths left his mouth. On the stretcher, he was a mess, bloody and almost unrecognizable as human.

Hajime's classmates had wavered, mouths open but no sounds coming out and bodies frozen in place, not sure if it was their place to offer assistance. It had been the first major accident that any of them had seen in person after all, Hajime included.

But while his classmates stood in place in their confusion, Hajime jumped into action, not pausing a moment before standing at the sides of the man and his senior doctors. Whatever he felt inside, Hajime didn't let show and the twisting fear in his gut was pushed down before it could take hold. He held out tools and listened to the doctors' commands carefully, providing the assistance that helped save that man's life.

Later, with a wink, the head doctor would hand Hajime a cheap pen made to look like a bone. He'd said with a scratchy laugh, _"you're a part of the club now Iwaizumi, the competent doctors club. Good job today."_ Hajime had grumbled his thanks, but kept the pen anyways, keeping it in his scrub pocket and refilling it whenever the ink ran out. It had become a symbol of his love for his profession and a reminder that he was a competent, level-headed professional. Able to take on anything thrown at him.

But now, as Hajime twirls the pen in his hands, still stalling in front of Oikawa Tooru's door, he doesn't feel very professional or competent.

In fact, his chest feels fluttery and his stomach seems upset and if he was a weaker person, Hajime would walk away right now. He'd screw Oikawa's flirty smiles and dumb jokes and dump the bastard onto some other doctor who would be better handled to deal with him.

But Iwaizumi Hajime is no quitter and Oikawa will not be the thing to break him.

So Hajime sucks a deep breath in through his nostrils and opens the door in one fast motion, something akin to ripping off a bandaid. This will mark the moment Hajime reinstates professional behavior toward his patient.

"Iwa-chan!"

Hajime wants to turn around and run out the door.

Instead, he meets Oikawa's beaming smile with a semi scowl of his own, fighting an inner battle to keep from snapping at his patient. He nods a greeting at Hanamaki. The man nods back. 

"Oikawa-san," he starts, trying and failing to keep his voice from sounding exasperated, "I asked you to stop calling me that."

The man just laughs at his doctor, white toothy smile unwavering. "But Iwa-chan suits you so well! And we're close enough for pet names. You're my friend aren't you, Iwa-chan?"

Hajime chooses to completely ignore Oikawa's question and get straight to business. He taps his pen a couple of times on his clipboard, ready to jot down notes. "How is your leg feeling today?"

"As good as ever. I mean, it _is_ broken.”

“Any pain or discomfort?”

“Well,” Oikawa pauses, looking down at the blue casting. “It’s a little itchy.”

Hajime nods, jotting down a few notes. “That’s normal. It happens when moisture gets trapped inside the cast. Don’t scratch at it because even the smallest cut can become infected.” 

Oikawa nods sagely, but Hajime can tell that he’s probably scratched at it more times than he can count. He looks at Hanamaki for the next part, “talcum powder helps, or drying out the area with a hairdryer on the cool setting.”

Hanamaki nods, writing in his notebook with neat, linear handwriting. 

“Any other problems since Wednesday?” 

Oikawa shakes his head. Hajime looks over to Hanamaki (a much better source of the truth) who is also shaking his head. 

“You haven’t had any strenuous activity, have you?” 

Oikawa crosses his arms and huffs. “No, Makki wouldn’t let me on the court.”

Hanamaki doesn’t even bother looking up from his notebook. 

“I just wanted to bounce the volleyball a few times, _Maybe_ once over the net. How damaging could that possibly be?” 

“Oikawa,” It slips Hajime’s mind to tack on the honorific. “You’re restrained to a wheelchair. I doubt you could do much playing.”

“No, but I _could_ throw a volleyball at Tobio-chan’s face.” Tooru’s voice isn’t the least bit teasing; it sounds serious. He likely _does_ want to throw a volleyball at this ‘Kageyama’ and knock him out.

“I think you should watch out, Hanamaki.” Hajime says, prompting the other man to look up at him, “Oikawa might kill the poor boy.”

Hanamaki snorts and looks back down at his notebook. “Might? It’s his dream to kill Kageyama.”

“Hey!” Oikawa squeaks. 

Hajime likes the idea of teasing Oikawa way too much, so he does. “I feel bad for the kid, and I’ve never even met him.”

“Trust me,” Hanamaki says, tucking his notebook away, “you’d feel even worse after seeing him. He’s like a puppy.”

“Is he?”

“Yes, very innocent.”

“Makki,” Oikawa begins, a warning in his tone. 

“You should have seen his face when Oikawa fell, he-“

Oikawa cuts his friend off, and Hajime can clearly detect the faux-sweetness dripping from his words. “Iwa-chan, I think you should call Mattsun back in.”

“Mattsun?” Hajime asks, confused, but his question is ignored as the other two men in the room participate in a silent standoff. They stare in each other’s eyes, Hanamaki lifting an eyebrow at Oikawa and Oikawa’s smile looking deadly. Finally, a conclusion seems to be reached. 

“Okay, Iwa-chan, you may continue.” 

“I,” Hajime scratches at the back of his head with the pen, expression twisted up in confusion. “Uhh, okay. I’m just going to feel around for swelling. You already know how this goes.”

" _Oh do I ever,_ " Oikawa purrs, holding out his leg in what the man must think is an attractive pose _(_ _it's not. With that cast on, all Tooru looks is uncomfortable, holding his leg out at an odd angle)._

When the exam is done, Hajime quietly cleans up his supplies, tossing gloves into a nearby garbage can. He faces his patient, takes in the discomfort on his face, and asks, “how are you feeling, Oikawa? Still good?” 

Hajime knows the other man isn’t fine. Oikawa hates the exam part of Hajime’s visit. No matter how much he tries to play off the contact as flirtatious, and _that feels nice, Iwa-chan,_ Hajime knows that the process is uncomfortable. It can’t feel nice being poked and prodded on such a sensitive injury. Plus, Hajime always keeps a close eye on Oikawa’s face. It scrunches up in pain, just the tiniest bit, and the expression doesn’t go away. It’s there now, under Oikawa’s many other fake layers. 

Still, Oikawa soldiers on. 

"As good as ever. You take very good care of me, _doctor_." Oikawa practically purrs on the last word and Hajime can only inwardly roll his eyes, very used to that tone of voice by now.

"No problems with the cast? You had said something a couple weeks ago about having trouble moving after the exam. Is that still a problem?"

"Nope," Oikawa says, popping the 'p'. To prove his point, he moves his leg side to side. Hajime writes down notes on that before his next question.

"Have you felt any pain or discomfort since I last asked?"

"Only in my heart." Oikawa holds a hand over the left side of his chest, clutching at his light blue t-shirt like an over the top actor.

"I should cause you some pain," Hajime mutters as he jots down 'no marked discomfort' with his bone-shaped pen.

"What was that, Iwa-chan?"

Hajime coughs to hide his warm cheeks. His professionalism is slipping just a couple minutes in, this must be a new record. "Just that I think we’ll be able to switch casts soon. Once the Sarmiento is on, I will refer you to a physical therapist near your home and check-ups will be much less frequent - only once every two weeks or so.”

When Hajime gives a small reassuring smile towards his patient, the man just blinks at him, expression frozen in place. This only lasts a moment before he snaps out of it, flashing a toothy smile at Hajime that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Hajime frowns slightly at the fake smile but doesn't press Oikawa. He probably is worried about how strenuous physical therapy will be.

"Any questions for me?"

Oikawa looks likes he's deep in thought for a few seconds but then he flashes Hajime a look and the doctor can guess the words before they even leave his mouth.

"Can I have your number?"

"Goodbye, Oikawa," Hajime sighs, turning toward the door and ignoring the irritating tightening in his chest. Stupid flirty Shittykawa making him feel this way. Stupid Hajime for not handing his patient over to someone else when he still could.

He applies the foamy hand sanitizer hanging next to a poster with a smiling blonde nurse reminding all doctors to ‘foam in, foam out’ and places a hand against the door handle, pushing it open and taking a step outside.

The moment before the door shuts behind him, he hears some faint mumblings coming from Oikawa. Half tempted to turn around and ask the man what he’s talking about, Hajime ignores the urge and continues out the door.

God damn Shittykawa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Omake:**
> 
> “Kageyama thought he was dying and was millimeters away from giving Oikawa mouth-to-mouth. Oikawa screamed. for like, five minutes straight.”
> 
> Mattsun begins snorting, keeps snorting/giggling, trying to hide his smile behind his clipboard. The black curls on his head quiver as he shakes with his laughter. 
> 
> Oikawa’s voice is flat when he says, “Makki, you’re dead to me.”


	4. Chapter 4

At the start of their next appointment, a boy with bright orange hair bounces through the door instead of the usual bushy eyebrowed, quasi-stud. 

Makki visibly deflates. 

“Where’s Mattsun?” Tooru asks, running critical eyes over the new nurse.

He looks short and young, young enough to be in high school, or if Tooru’s feeling extra biting: middle school. He is tempted to ask where this shrimp’s parents are, but bites down hard on his tongue in case Iwa-chan makes an unexpected entrance. Gotta stay sweet for his doctor. 

“Mattsun?” The boy looks confused. 

“Matsukawa Issei,” Makki clarifies. 

Oikawa looks over at his friend, surprised. Ooh, he knows the nurse’s first name? They must be closer than Tooru expected. This is a development that he didn’t foresee. Maybe he’s even progressed enough to get Mattsun’s phone number. 

Before Tooru can stew any more on this intriguing train of thought, the shrimp’s bubbly voice is ringing out in the room again. 

“You guys call him Mattsun?” The boy yips. Tooru thinks he sounds like an excited puppy. “That’s so cute! I’ll have to call him that when I see him next!”

Makki looks pale, but is obviously not going to voice his distaste of that idea. Tooru takes pity on his friend’s poor soul and speaks up on his behalf. 

“Please don’t,” Tooru’s voice is short and a little biting. “That’s our thing, shrimpy-chan.”

“Shrimpy-chan?” The boy looks confused again and Tooru is practically trembling with the need to insult him. “My name’s Hinata, actually. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself when I first came in! I’ll be your nurse for today because Matsukawa was busy with another patient. Nice to meet you both!”

This boy is the literal embodiment of a sun’s rays and Tooru is feeling the need to squint so he doesn’t damage his eyes. Or maybe wear some sunglasses. He’s leaning toward the latter because, damn, can Oikawa Tooru pull off a pair of aviators. 

The nurse’s assessment goes much quicker than usual. Tooru and Makki have no banter to play off, and though Shrimpy-chan seems decently competent at the whole ‘medical thing,’ he is shit at keeping Tooru’s attention. 

The visit is over in a matter of minutes, and Tooru doesn’t register any of it. He left Makki to do all the talking while Tooru himself just stares longingly at the door. 

When Shrimpy-chan finally leaves, Tooru recognizes that he is not the only one in that position. Makki is staring at the door with visible disappointment. It’s not unlike the look Tooru gives when his teammates miss a crucial set and let a point through. 

_(Well, that’s not completely true. Tooru isn’t disappointed when Kageyama misses a set. In fact, he has a very, very hard time keeping in his snickers when that happens. Still, he tries very hard to keep it in. Once, when he let his laughter out, not even that loudly, mind you, his coach had benched him for an entire game. Never again.)_

“It’s okay, Makki,” Tooru says. The words catch his friend’s attention, and his gaze flickers over. Tooru turns his wheelchair to face Makki more fully. In the process, he ends up accidentally bumping the cast against the plastic of a chair. Searing pain shoots up his leg, lingering on his calf. _Ouch_. 

He pats Makki’s shoulder and dons a rueful smile on his face. “It will be alright. I’m sure our dear Mattsun has stayed faithful to us.” 

“Faithful?” 

“Yes, I’m sure of it. It wouldn’t be like him to cheat with another handsome patient, right?”

“Sure.”

“Though I do wonder,” Tooru lowers his voice to a near whisper, crowding close to Makki to say the words. “Is even the great Mattsun resistant to the charms of that beautiful vixen with the broken arm?” 

He casts a pointed look to his right, where he and Makki had caught sight of an, _admittedly,_ beautiful woman in a neighboring office. Secretly, Tooru hopes that Iwaizumi goes nowhere near that room; his heart clenches at the mere thought of it. She’s pretty enough to be a threat. 

Makki just rolls his eyes. “Oikawa, I know what you’re doing.”

Tooru holds a hand to his heart, the picture of innocence. “Whatever do you mean?” 

“You’re trying to make me jealous so I rush out of this office and find Matsukawa and profess my feelings for him,” his expression is bored. “Not gonna happen.” 

Tooru’s hand clutches at his heart, as though pained. “Makki, who do you think I am, a liar?” 

“Yes.” 

“I resent that. I am simply trying to save my best friend from heartbreak.” 

“I think you’re more at risk of that than I am. I don’t think even _you_ realize how much you pine for Iwaizumi.” He pauses, as though he expects Tooru to answer. “It’s a lot,” He finally says. 

“Untrue,” Tooru scoffs. “Anyway, we weren’t talking about me. We were talking about your sarcastic suitor.”

Makki says nothing. His only response is to relax further into his chair, sliding down a few inches so he is slouched comfortably. He looks like a turtle as he’s buried in his black sweatshirt. 

“Let’s look at the facts,” Tooru starts. “One, you have the hots for Mattsun.” When Makki opens his mouth, Tooru immediately cuts him off before he can begin. “Don’t fight it. We both know it’s true.”

“Two, he has the hots for you. Don’t fight that one either. I’ve seen the way his gaze lingers on your ass when we pass him on the way out.” 

Makki is still relaxed in his sweatshirt turtle shell, but even that can’t hide the flaming red blush in his cheeks. Tooru smiles at him, though the other man can’t see. _Ah, young love,_ he wants to swoon. Makki is adorable. If only he’d _stop denying his feelings_ and go after his suitor. 

“Three, if you want to get this relationship off the ground, you’re going to have to work for it. If you can’t do that, don’t be surprised if someone else beats you to it.” 

As if on cue, Mattsun’s voice passes their door. His laugh is loud, a bit louder than it normally is, and Tooru wheels himself toward the door to investigate. When he pops his head out, he catches sight of Mattsun, just Mattsun, no one else, snickering to himself and looking at his phone as he turns round the corner. He’s probably laughing about memes or something equally as dorky. For the hundredth time, Tooru reflects on what a perfect match the nurse and Makki will be. 

Still, he can tell Makki needs the right amount of push, or he’ll just sit there, complacent forever. Tooru summons all the acting chops he was blessed with and schools his facial features to look sad. Slowly, he wheels himself around, turning to face Makki once again.

Makki is now sitting up straight, his own features wary. 

“Sorry Makki. You can forget all of what I just said. It’s over.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Tooru sighs heavily. “I just caught Mattsun shoulder to shoulder with a nurse. He was quite handsome.” 

Makki’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, betraying his interest. “That’s not even bad. Why the sigh?”

“Because, dear Makki. They two were laughing and _blushing_. Like a couple. I think I even saw the nurse’s hand on Mattsun’s back as they turned the corner.” 

Tooru watches his friend closely, can see him bristle just the slightest bit. 

“Really?” Makki asks. 

“Really,” Tooru confirms. “You won’t need to confess, after all. Unless you think you can stop the future in its tracks.”

There is a long, charged pause in the room. Tooru can feel Makki’s tension, his urge to go after Mattsun and do something to stop Tooru’s scenario from playing out. 

Tooru wheels over so that he sits right in front of his friend. He places another hand on his shoulder and nods sagely. “I think we both know what you must do.” 

Makki nods back seriously. There is a jealous twinkle in his eyes, and Tooru feels delighted to see it. It makes him proud. 

_His little Makki is finally growing up._ Tooru has the urge to wipe an imaginary tear from his eye.

Just as Makki stands up to follow Mattsun, the beautiful Iwaizumi chooses to walk in the door. 

* * *

“Hello, _Hanamaki-“_

“Hello, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki says, brushing past Hajime so that he’s walking out of the room. “I’m going to get some water.”

“What are -?” But Hanamaki is already out the door. 

Oikawa is cheering boisterously. “Go get him, Makki!” He yells out to the empty, open door, and then he is laughing, a delighted and happy sound. He laughs so hard that he almost doubles over in his wheelchair.

Hajime feels terribly out of the loop.

“I don't want to know,” He says under his breath, promising himself, _again_ , that this will be nothing but a professional appointment.

About thirty minutes and 500 flirty comments later, Hajime braces himself on the wall outside the door, counting to ten and breathing deeply through his nose. He repeats a chant in his head, over and over, attempting to calm his racing heart. 

_We do not kill patients at Seijoh Hospital. We do not kill patients at Seijoh Hospital. We do not-_

A voice cuts off Hajime’s frantic inner chant. 

“Hey, Iwaizumi? You okay over there?” Matsukawa’s voice is teasing, sarcastic and so unlike his normal monotone voice that Hajime snaps his head to his friend in surprise. There’s a fading blush that Matsukawa is trying to cover up with his smirk. It’s no use though; the blush stands out like a bright red beacon.

“I think I should be asking you the same question, Matsukawa.” 

The dark-haired nurse shrugs. “I’ve been better.” 

“Wanna tell me why?” 

Matsukawa’s response is a pair of rolling eyes along with, “I’m pretty sure it’s similar to your problem right now.” 

Hajime blinks at the cryptic answer. He’s confused for a couple second but then it all makes sense, clicking into place in Hajime’s head. He relaxes and gives Matsukawa an understanding look. 

“You’re having trouble not strangling Oikawa, too?”

Matsukawa shoots Hajime an unimpressed look and opens his mouth to reply, but then a frantic Hinata is jumping up between them, blocking Hajime’s view of the other nurse. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god,” Hinata breathes, words so fast and frantic that they begin to blend together. “Matsukawa we need your help in room 232B. Melissa is throwing a fit again and I think she’s going to kill Yachi!” 

Oi. Melissa. Hajime pats Matsukawa’s shoulder in a display of camaraderie. The nurse has Hajime’s sympathy. 

Matsukawa begins to follow Hinata, but then stops part of the way in, leaning close to Hajime to say his next bit. 

“You should think about your problem some more. I don’t think what you’re wanting to do with Oikawa is strangle him.” The nurse’s thick eyebrows furrow for a moment. “Well, I guess unless you’re into that sort of thing.” 

Hajime blinks. 

_Huh?_

But the nurse is already off with Hinata yapping in his ear and Hajime is left alone to deal with another one of Matsukawa’s odd comments, ones that are becoming all the more common these days. 

Before he can even begin to go about deciphering it, Hajime has to head off to his next appointment: off to a sweet aging woman with a broken hipbone. 

On the short walk to the patient’s room, Hajime does realize something about his friend, however. 

Matsukawa is acting strange. Hajime has a feeling it has something to do with the pink-haired boy who’s been accompanying Oikawa on all his hospital visits, but he can’t be 100% sure without asking the man directly.

A shrug. Matsukawa will open up to Iwaizumi when he’s ready. There’s no need to bother his friend with unnecessary questions that won’t get Hajime anywhere. Probing too much will just end with Matsukawa making bad jokes and offering cop-out answers. 

No, he doesn’t need to ask questions, but he does need to figure out Matsukawa’s last comment. 

He stews on the words. Oikawa and strangling? 

He taps with a bone-shaped pen at his clipboard as he walks. Oikawa and strangling?

Before he realizes it, Hajime is in front of his patient’s door and has made no progress with that line of thinking. Oh well. 

He just has to hope it’s nothing important. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Finally._
> 
> Also, no Iwaoi this chapter. Just fluffy matsuhana <3

Matsukawa Issei - king of levelheaded, dry sarcasm - knows he is well and truly fucked when on a Thursday night, he finds himself hanging off the side of his couch, phone held over his head, tv humming in the background as he stares in rapt attention at a text message bubble popping up and disappearing every few seconds on the phone screen. He feels no need to tease the other person. In fact, he feels the opposite; he could watch this go on forever. 

_Hanamaki is typing..._

The bubble goes away. Disappears after a second. Issei keeps staring. 

_Hanamaki is typing..._

The bubble stays on the screen for a whole five seconds. Then, gone again. A long pause...

“Come on, Hanamaki,” he murmurs, only a little delirious. “Be brave for the both of us.” 

A 'bing' startles him, making him almost drop his phone flat on his face. The phone almost smacks him, about to lands on his eye, and gives him a nice purple bruise, a beacon to show to Hanamaki saying, _I’m so whipped for you, I would literally injure myself just for a text back._ Luckily, he catches it in time, but it’s not an easy thing. 

Issei sits up, looks at his screen for the notification, and catches the reminder he set himself for work tomorrow. On it is his death sentence: **Work 5am-1pm**. He takes a look at the clock - 12:40am, and shrugs, ignoring the problem of sleep for now. 

There are much more important things on his mind. 

Again, he flips back the previous conversation that had him so engrossed he almost smacked himself. 

**(Today 12:16 AM) Hanamaki:** Wanna hear something embarrassing ? 

**(Today 12:16 AM) Hanamaki:** Like so embarrassing for me that I’ll evaporate on the spot

 **(Today 12:18 AM)** **Me:** Duh 

**(Today 12:20 AM) Hanamaki** : K 

**(Today 12:25 AM) Hanamaki:** Give me a second to gather my courage 

Issei had waited for a second and many, many more. A dumb hope started taking root in his chest with each minute, and he couldn’t deny it anymore. He really wanted Hanamaki to say something cheesy. 

Like, ‘I’ve got a dumb crush on you,’ or ‘I wanna go on a date with you,’ or even (and this was the preferred response), ‘I would give anything to tap that ass.’ 

Now, Issei isn’t an idiot, not about himself or anyone else (and he especially doesn’t want to be counted in a category with _Iwaizumi_ of all people). He knows he likes Hanamaki, knows his chest gets lighter every time he walks into the room with the volleyball player. But Issei also knows that he can’t ask the other man out, not if he wants to keep his dignity and job intact. 

For one, he holds a position of power over Hanamaki, and Issei would never want to lord that over someone or make them feel like they _have_ to go out with someone to spare future visit awkwardness. There is also the problem that while he’s pretty sure Hanamaki has the hots for him too, there is no way to be certain. So he’s perfectly content playing the long game for now - a bonus is also the fact that he gets to see Hanamaki flustered and cute all the time. _Like all the time._

In the top ten cutest moments the man has given him, number one is definitely when he had stumbled into the break room during the last visit. The man’s cheeks had been red, his chest heaving from exertion, and shorts leaving very little to the imagination. 

Hanamaki had charged up to Issei’s table, full of confidence, but then when their eyes met, his cheeks had turned an impossible even deeper red, and he had rubbed his neck sheepishly. 

“This is dumb,” Hanamaki had said. “But do you think I can have your number?” 

Issei had crooked an eyebrow, if nothing just to watch the man squirm, but he pulled out his phone anyways. 

“N-not for anything weird!" Hanamaki sputtered, “I just thought it would be cool to talk, because you’re funny, and I know Oikawa’s visits don’t always line up with your schedule.” 

Issei had stared him down, even as his chest blossomed with a warmth. _So cute._

Finally, he had shrugged. “Sure. But I want you to send me some quality embarrassing pictures of Oikawa.” 

Hanamaki had snorted, just when Issei thought he couldn’t get any more adorable and nodded. “Of course. I’ll give you prime blackmail material.” 

  
The two had been texting back and forth every day since. And yes, Issei now has a folder on his phone labeled ‘To terrorize Oikawa,’ stocked full of embarrassing photos of the great king, but it was just a perk. He _loved_ talking with Hanamaki, probably way more than he should. 

He stares at the phone again. 

_Hanamaki is typing..._

Finally, a text comes through. 

**(Today 12:47 AM) Hanamaki:** I’ll keep you in suspense... See you tomorrow at the appointment 

Issei shakes his head. Suspense. He guesses it’s a word for what he’s feeling, though really he doesn’t mind. He’ll give the man all the time he needs (if Issei is even reading the situation right. He hopes he is.) 

**(Today 12:48 AM) Me:** Night Hanamaki 

  
Shortly afterwards, Issei collapses, asleep in his bed. He knows he’ll be feeling the lack of sleep tomorrow, but he can’t bring himself to regret it. 

* * *

Issei definitely regrets it in the morning. 

Not that he blames Hanamaki; more in he blames himself in the way that the lack of sleep had snowballed, making issue and issue pop up over the course of the morning. 

To start with, he forgot to set his alarm. Issei had woken up, bleary-eyed, staring in disbelief at his phone when it read 4:55 AM, _five minutes before work._ He had somehow washed his face, brushed his teeth, and hair in a little under two minutes (4:57 AM), only to stand stupidly in front of his closet and realize he had forgotten to wash his scrubs the night before. He thinks back to the night when he had been standing in front of the washer, detergent in hand, only to hear the ‘bing’ of his phone alerting him that Hanamaki had sent him a message. He had promptly forgotten the laundry two seconds later. 

_Damn_. 

To top it off, when he had rolled up to work, twenty minutes late (5:20 AM), wrinkled, old scrubs a mess (the scrubs had a stain. Issei didn’t even want to _think_ about where it came from) and running on less than hours of sleep, he found out that the receptionist had forgotten to order more coffee for the break room. 

_He was without coffee. Never a good sign of things to come._

He had walked like a zombie for a few appointments, running on fumes and the excitement of seeing Hanamaki later in the day, only to look down at his schedule and realize he was scheduled with a different doctor, _not_ Iwaizumi. 

He could have collapsed right there and then, but luckily (or unluckily), he still had a few scraps of dignity left. He wandered through the halls on autopilot between patients, knowing that if he sat down for even a moment, he would fall asleep with no way to wake up. 

And that is now where Issei finds himself, roaming the halls with no destination in particular, when he is met with an experience he could never predict, not even with his close-to-decade of nursing experience. 

When he turns a corner, he is met with a sight that should be surprising, but after years at Seijoh, Issei has found that barely anything surprises him anymore. 

Yachi and Hinata, two of his team's youngest, freshest meat (just a year out of nursing school) are huddled outside Iwaizumi’s office, their ears pressed to the door and their faces close, each giggling to each other. They probably think they are sneaky, but he’s sure their hair is visible through the glass pane, Hinata’s a fiery orange, and Yachi’s a fluffy blonde. 

They apparently haven’t realized Issei, their _boss_ , has appeared before them, because they continue giggling to each other, their voices hushed but excited. 

Issei shakes his head, leans against the wall and watches them, certain he is in for an interesting show. Honestly, he might need an entertaining thing to get him through this long day. 

“Did you hear that?" Hinata asks, bouncing slightly in his crouched position, heels lifting off the ground and hair bouncing excitedly. 

“Yes!” Yachi whisper shouts, "He called him that nickname again. So cute!” 

“Iwa-chan! I still can’t believe it.” 

_Oh_ , Issei thinks, and suddenly it makes sense. They’re spying on the weekly Oikawa-Iwaizumi show. 

And then there is a pang, an out-of-character nervousness deep in his chest. _He shouldn’t be waiting outside their door like a creep._ Hanamaki and Oikawa are in their appointment, have already seen their nurse. He should turn around and leave, should try to dig up some coffee from deep in the storage room and save himself the embarrassment. But then Yachi yelps, and Issei is yanked forcibly out of his head. 

“Wait, shh, I think Oikawa is saying something.” 

There is a pause as the two press even further to the door, the entire half of their faces smushed and hilarious-looking. If they leaned even further, Issei is sure they would crash through the door in an excited pile of orange and yellow. 

He tries to picture Oikawa's face if that happened, harsh and annoyed, and the scandalized face of Iwaizumi. Hanamaki would probably smirk, his eyes full of delight at the misery of others - Issei stifles a smile behind his clipboard. 

Luckily, the other nurses are so engrossed that they still don’t register him. 

“Oh my, he asked for his number, again,” Yachi whispers in astonishment. “I don’t think Oikawa will ever give up.” 

Hinata groans, “Yeah, and Iwaizumi rejected him _again_. I don’t get it. How can he not realize his own feelings when they are so obvious?” 

_You and me both Hinata,_ Issei thinks. Isse thinks he will never fully understand the pure density that lies in his friend's head.

“They would be so cute together." 

“The _cutest_.” 

“Do you think they would bicker like this all the time?” 

“Definitely. It’s their love language.” 

“Eeh,” Yachi squeals, bringing her face from the door, cradling her blushing cheeks with her hands. “Do you remember when Oikawa said-“

“Yes! And Iwaizumi-san said-"

“Yes, I remember!” 

Issei distantly wonders how long the duo had been creeping on Iwaizumi and his patient. He probably should break them up; he’s sure gossiping is against some hospital rule. Definitely against HIPAA, at least. Stopping them would be the responsible thing to do. 

Then again, this is _really_ funny. 

As covertly as he can, he slides his phone out of his chest pocket and takes a picture of the two. The scene is way more adorable than it has a right to be (also, it’s great blackmail to be added to the ever-growing folder on his phone). 

“I can’t wait for them to get together,” Yachi coos. “I think they both deserve that happiness.” 

They both nod, and when a loud laugh ( _Oikawa_ ) breaks through the door, they pause, pressing their ears against the door again. Then it’s back to the giggling. 

“How do you think it will happen?" 

“Ooh, can you imagine Iwaizumi just showing up at one of Oikawa’s games with a bouquet of roses and professing his feelings?” 

“Oh yes,” Yachi coos. "Do you think he’s one to do that?” 

“He’d better, or I think I'll have to force them together myself.” 

Issei nods his head in silent agreement with Hinata’s words. If he had a dime for every time he came close to stepping besides Iwaizumi and Oikawa and mashing their faces together, just yelling at them to ‘admit their stupid feelings already,’ Issei thinks he would be a rich man.. or he would have at least a few dollars saved up by now. 

“Ooh,” Hinata breathes, "I bet I could barge in there and say something. Then they will be forced to admit their feelings!” He looks like he wants to as well, as though he is puffing himself up for the confrontation, like a bird stretching out his feathers. 

_Okay, that’s enough of that,_ Issei thinks. Time to break up this cute little party before it goes too far. 

He steps closer, footsteps inaudible, and leans down, a few inches from their still-oblivious heads. 

“What are you two up to?" He asks, drawing his voice much louder than normal, with the intent to terrify, saying the words right beside their ears. 

The two jump up in surprise, so fast and in synch that they bump their foreheads together, breaking apart with a chorus of quiet groans. The young nurses land in a tangle of limbs on their floor, rubbing their foreheads. They look up at Issei, and he sees the moment their situation clicks in their heads, because like a switch, they immediately lean forward in identical bows, hands braced against the tile floor. 

He can’t see their faces, but he can imagine them to be a deep embarrassed red. 

“We are so sorry!" 

“We didn’t mean to spy!" 

He cuts off their rambling with a shake of his head before it can even start. 

“You don’t need me to explain to you _why_ this is inappropriate, do you?” 

“No!” Their voices are together, two embarrassed clones of each other. 

In response, Matsukawa shakes his head, clicks his tongue, and pretends to dig through his papers for a disciplinary report. Instead, it’s just an empty chart, scribbled on it is a joke he was saving for Hanamaki when they next met. He poses his pen over the paper, raising his eyebrows expectantly. 

“I could report you for this, and I probably should. Give me a reason not to.” 

Cue more bowing. 

Matsukawa has to press his lips together to hide a smirk at the sight. There is nothing that brightens his spirits more than threatening newbies. He ignores the small voice in his head that says this probably reveals a lot about him as a person. 

“We promise it will never happen again, Matsukawa-san,” they both say in unison, faces almost pressed to the floor. 

Issei makes a show of putting his fake disciplinary note away. 

“Fine, I won’t,” he sighs. “Now get out of here before I change my mind.” He waves them off, looking down at his chart and disregarding them with his signature level of boredom. 

“Yes, Matsukawa-san," Yachi says, bowing, her cheeks red with embarrassment. 

“Of course, Matsukawa-san," Hinata echoes dutifully, but when Yachi moves to leave, he grabs hold of her sleeve to keep her in place. 

The motion catches Issei's attention, and he looks up at the two, raising an eyebrow in question. Yachi looks terrified, staring at Hinata in shock, and her cheeks still a bright red. Hinata has a small smile on his face, a surprisingly _teasing_ one, something that Issei has never seen on the young nurse’s face. 

He’s intrigued, but doesn’t say so, opting to just continue leveling a flat look at Hinata. “Something else on your mind?” He asks. 

“Yes, actually,” Hinata says brightly. “I wanted to ask you earlier, but I forgot.” He chances a look at Yachi, who is shaking her head furiously and mouthing ‘no’ over and over again. 

Issei blinks. 

“Can we call you _Mattsun_? Oikawa-san said it, and I think it’s the cutest nickname ever!” 

Issei stares at them, surprised and uncomprehending. Yachi is sputtering apologies next to him, but Hinata just stands straight and tall, smile beaming brighter than the lights above. 

“I’ll think about it." 

“Okay!” Hinata yips, and then he is skipping, dragging a catatonic Yachi along with him. 

Issei stares at the empty space they left for a few moments, surprise coloring his thoughts until finally, he feels a smile appear, slow but real, and he shakes his head in shock. _Wow, Oikawa is a real menace, isn’t he?_ He has even convinced the newbies to joke along with him. Issei never thought he’d see the day. 

In silence, he stands, staring at Iwaiuzumi’s door. He’ll blame the lack of sleep for any actions that come next. 

He could wait until next time the dynamic duo decide to make an appearance. There are two more visits until Oikawa is cleared for PT, and it’s not like Issei _c_ _an’t wait_ another week to see Hanamaki. He’s not that desperate. And it would give off serious stalker vibes, to just barge in with no warnings like he was creeping at the door for the whole visit (which, to be fair, isn’t entirely false.) 

Hanamaki will think he's a weirdo, Issei will feel like a weirdo, Oikawa will make some off-color joke at his expense, and honestly, it’s just a terrible idea. He’s not so sleep deprived to put his dignity on the line like that. 

But then, he hears Hanamaki's deep voice on the other side of the door, muffled and unintelligible. Then a laugh and the sound of Oikawa’s high pitched whining - probably getting teased by Hanamki about Iwaizumi - and suddenly, he _really, really_ wants to go inside. 

He stands at the opposite door, staring through the foggy glass at the vague Hanamaki and Oikawa-like shapes like a dumbass for approximately thirty more seconds before he thinks, _'_ _fuck it’_ and walks in. 

He’s rewarded for his courage with a beautiful sight. Hanamaki and Oikawa in the middle of the office - Oikawa in his wheelchair, Hanamaki in front of him, one foot on the floor, and another braced against the flimsy chairs, hands playing tug of war with a cellphone. 

He can see Hanamaki's muscles in action as he holds onto the phone for dear life - his legs taut with how they are trying to brace against Oikawa. Issei whistles to himself in his head. _T_ _hank god for volleyball uniforms,_ he thinks, watching the muscles work. 

Then he chuckles, and the two straighten in surprise. The phone crashes to the ground, and Hanamaki is quick to snatch it up. They both stare at Issei with round eyes, caught off guard, but then Hanamaki’s face softens - a small but happy smile on his face. 

Issei’s stomach swoops, and he feels an answering smile reflect on his face, warm and fond. And _yeah_ Issei doesn’t regret his decision at all. 

* * *

Matsukawa, like always, is absolutely _gorgeous_. 

Takahiro isn’t above admitting that this is a weird thought to have every-time he sees the nurse, but he’s past the point of lying to himself. He’s in too deep to fake anything. 

Because now, even when Matsukawa looks like he’s running on thirty minutes of sleep with the dark bags under his eyes and a cup of black coffee clutched in his hand like a lifeline, Takahiro knows he has never seen anyone more beautiful in his entire life. 

Takahiro smiles, a deep, genuine smile, and feels his stomach swoop when Matsukawa smiles back. 

“Mattsun!” Oikawa exclaims in delight, completely forgetting about the phone they had been fighting over a few seconds ago. 

He has a big smile on his face and his eyes are flicking between Takahiro and Matsukawa in the most obvious way possible. Takahiro squashes his urge to bolt, running out the door, pushing a screaming Oikawa in tow, but it’s a close thing. 

“I’m happy to see you~" Oikawa sings. “It has been so long. I thought you had forgotten about your favorite patients.” 

Matsukawa pauses, looks at Oikawa. “It’s only been two-“ 

“Yes, I know! Two whole visits that you didn’t deem poor Makki and I worthy of your time. We missed you, you know? Especially Makki, he missed you a ton.” 

_Takahiro could strangle that idiot._ He really, really could. Oikawa is too weak and restricted to his wheelchair to even run from his attack, he thinks darkly. 

“Did he now?” Matsukawa asks, his features teasing, though his voice is softer than normal. He looks so tired, and it is taking everything in Takahiro not to grab the nurse’s face and rub at those dark circles under his eyes. 

“Ignore him,” Takahiro says with a wave of his hand. He hopes the warmth in his cheeks isn’t noticeable. “Oikawa is just trying to get back at me.” 

“For what?” 

“For threatening to show a video to Iwaizumi-san.” He pauses to smirk at Matsukawa. “It’s a really juicy one.” 

“Hmm,” Matsukawa hums, setting his items on a nearby desk. "You can't say that and _not_ show me.” 

The two stare at each other, raising their eyebrows in mirrored questioning. Faintly, Takahiro can hear Oikawa’s indignation in the background. 

“Makki, don’t even think about it," Oikawa warns.

Then, as if on cue, Matsukawa and Takahiro nod once in mutual agreement and spring to action. 

“Quick, grab his wheelchair!" 

“I got it. Pull up the video." 

“Yes, yes.” 

Oikawa doesn’t have time to get away, ambushed as he is, and he can do nothing but squawk indignantly in place. He tries to push himself away, to roll towards Takahiro, but Matsukawa keeps him in place and locks the wheels, quicker than lightning. 

Takahiro thumbs through his videos as quick as he can and can’t keep in his delighted laugh in when he pulls up the video a moment later. He holds the phone up to Matsukawa, Oikawa’s back turned in his wheelchair, but he is desperately trying to twist to see the video too. 

> Filling the screen is a young version of Oikawa, skinny but still confident, his back facing the camera as he twists slightly to look over his shoulder. He flashes a peace sign, a wide toothy smile on his face.   
>    
>  Next to him is a blushing Kageyama, halfway down to a bow, his features incredulous as he looks up at Oikawa.   
>    
>  “Say it~” Oikawa sings at Kageyama, though his face is directed to the camera, a fake pageant smile in place. “Say it, or I won’t help you, Tobio-chan~.”   
>    
>  “I-I” Kageyama sputters, bends further, and bobs his head in a fluttery version on a bow. “I need your help Oikawa-san. You’re the best, and no one can ever measure up to you.”   
>    
>  “Yay!” Oikawa claps, still looking only at the camera. “Finally, you admit it. Now say that you are no match for me.”   
>    
>  A few more fluttering bows. "I am no match for you, Oikawa-san.”   
>    
>  “Say I will crush you at volleyball.”   
>    
>  “You will crush me at volleyball."   
>    
>  “Now say-“   
>    
>  “Oikawa,” an exasperated voice cuts Oikawa off mid-command. Oikawa’s little cousin soon turns the camera around, so his face is in view. “Do you really think this makes you look good? I think you look like a jerk.”   
>    
>  “Takahashi,” Oikawa yells, "take that back!”   
>    
>  “No way.”   
>    
>  The phone then goes flying, and all that is visible is a flurry of blurring colors - the blue of the clear sky and the green of the trees - and then Oikawa is holding the phone up to his face. He cocks his head to the side, smiling widely.   
>    
>  “Bye~” he sings, and then the video cuts to black. 

The three adults stare at the black screen in surprise for a long moment, and then the room is a flurry of voices. 

“Makki, the betrayal!” Oikawa wails. 

Takahiro is bent at the waist, laughing so hard that he could cry. That video never fails to make him laugh. 

Matsukawa has his face screwed up, features pained like he is really trying to keep in a laugh. 

“ _That’s Tobio-chan?_ " is all Matsukawa says, his voice incredulous. 

“Yes,” Oikawa pouts. "He is way more evil than he looks.”

“ _That kid pushed you off the bleachers?_ “

“Yes, Mattsun! Obviously. He was plotting against me, even back then.” 

“Oikawa,” Matsukawa huffs, "Tobio is like half the size of you.” 

“He makes up for it in cunning wit and sabotage!” 

Matsukawa pauses. Then, "didn't he try to give you mouth-to-mouth after you fell?” 

That starts Takahiro off all over again. He starts honest-to-god cackling, and in normal circumstances, he might feel the need to be embarrassed, but not now - not when Matsukawa is laughing right alongside him, his hand laying gently on Takahiro’s back to steady himself. The area burns, and most of Takahiro’s attention zones into the contact, but not enough to stop teasing Oikawa. 

“You _have_ to send that to me," Matsukawa hums right next to his ear. Takahiro tries to will himself not to blush but ultimately fails. Big shocker there. 

“Of course,” Takahiro says. "But only if you post it online and tag the men’s volleyball team.” 

“Done and done.” 

Oikawa huffs, and the sound finally pulls Takahiro’s attention off Matsukawa. He looks over at his friend and sees his embarrassment, but underneath that is happiness, a genuine joy at seeing Takahiro and his crush getting along. 

“I’m going to the bathroom," Oikawa declares and starts rolling himself to the door. 

Takahiro jumps to attention, walking towards the wheelchair to help his friend out. He knows Oikawa can’t make it to the bathroom on his own; a few embarrassing almost-falls in the gym had shown them all that. 

“Don’t fuss Makki," Oikawa says, batting Takahiro’s hand away when it comes to rest on the wheelchair handles. “I’m embarrassed enough by you today, don’t need to add you watching me _pee_ to the list.” He rolls out the door, waving goodbye with wiggling fingers. “Don’t have too much fun without me.” 

All of a sudden, Takahiro realizes what Oikawa is doing - giving him an in. For once in his life, Takahiro doesn’t mind the meddling, is grateful for it even. Oikawa must recognize that in his eyes because he gives Takahiro a long wink just before the door closes.

Takahiro and Matsukawa are left in the room alone, lights blaring bright on top of them. The silence is only slightly awkward. 

“I’ll send that to you once we leave,” Takahiro says dumbly. “Shouldn’t be too hard to wrestle it from Oikawa now that you’ve already seen it.” 

Matsukawa just hums, smiling despite the dark bags under his eyes. Takahiro once again has the ridiculous urge to hold his face in his hands, to smooth the restlessness away that he is sure was caused by their late-night conversation. 

“So-“ 

“I-“ 

They both say in unison, and Takahiro blushes a bright red. “You go first,” he says, still trying to gather his nerve. 

“Have you worked up the courage to tell me that secret yet?” Matsukawa asks. His eyes are unreadable. 

Takahiro can feel his heart jump in response. It beats hard and fast, thumping all the way up to his ears. _Has he worked up the courage?_ He doesn’t think so. But at the same time, what’s the harm in putting himself out there? The worst he can get is a ‘no.’ 

_Oh god, the worst he can get is a no._

Still, he feels his mouth moving, forming the words he was too scared to say last night. It thrills him, terrifies him, and he can only hope he makes it through the next part of this conversation with his heart still beating. 

He supposes it's good to be in the hospital - a place where heart surgeries are all the rage. Maybe he could get one if this all goes south. 

“D-do,” he stops and sighs, trying to gather some nerve. He’s a professional volleyball player, damnit. He knows he has more nerves than this. He faced against _Ushijima_ last season, for heaven’s sake. He has looked death itself in the eyes and survived. So why does this feel like hanging off the edge of a cliff? He can only hope he survives the fall. 

“Do you want to go somewhere with me?” Takahiro’s words come out in a rush, and he can feel his cheeks burning through his embarrassment.

Matsukawa stares at him in silence, an impassive wall of absolutely zero emotion, and Takahiro immediately loses the few courageous thoughts he possesses. They float away from his body, pathetic and lonely, and he shuts his eyes to avoid the embarrassment of looking at Matsukawa’s face. 

“Nevermind, it’s stupid, ignore me-“ 

“I have a break in fifteen minutes.” 

Takahiro stares up at Matsukawa in surprise. There is a light blush on the nurse’s face, and he looks surprisingly shy. It makes something desperate and hopeful pick itself up and soar through his body, a fallen bird who found its wings. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Matsukawa affirms. “We could get some crappy coffee from the cafeteria and bond over how it tastes like toxic sludge.” 

Takahiro feels a corner of his mouth lift up in endearment. What losers they both are, but it works, and Takahiro would never pass up a date with Matsukawa, even a lame one in a noisy cafeteria. 

“Sounds great.” 

“Great.” 

They smile dumbly are each other, just grinning like idiots at nothing. Then, Matsukawa’s face splits into something more sarcastic and familiar. 

“Pick you up at,” he pauses, looks at an imaginary watch on his wrist before pulling up his phone with the actual time. “Let’s say, 10:25?” 

“It’s a date,” Takahiro smiles, but then pauses in mock seriousness. “I’m not a cheap date, you know. You’d better go all out.” 

“I’ll buy the most expensive burnt coffee from the machine.” 

“Only the best.” 

They both smile again, just staring, before the connection is finally shattered by Oikawa’s voice as the door opens up, revealing his elated face. 

“Finally! It took you two long enough!” 

They both scoff in unison before locking eyes before turning to Oikawa to launch a two-person attack. 

“You’re one to talk,” Matsukawa says. 

“Yeah, you can’t say anything until you finally get Iwaizumi’s number!” 

“Knowing both of you, it will take _literal years._ “ 

There is more back and forth between all three of them before Matsukawa finally leaves with a smile and a nod at Takahiro. 

“See you later,” the nurse says. 

Oikawa and Takahiro are left in quiet in the exam room. Takahiro stares blankly at the door, trying to keep his heart in check, so it doesn’t actually burst through his chest with happiness. That would be such a waste after all the buildup these past few weeks. 

“Wait,” Oikawa says, breaking the silence, his head cocked to the side and expression set in deep thought. “You’re my ride. What am I supposed to do while I wait for your date?” 

“I don’t know. Sit in the waiting room?” 

“Makki, it’s so _dirty there_.” 

“You wanted this, Oikawa.” 

“Makki,” he whines, but deep down, he knows Oikawa is rooting for him, even if he’ll whine the whole way home. He’s sure to get an earful and a bunch of inappropriate, too-personal, digging questions from his best friend. 

Hanamaki thinks of Matsukawa’s signature smirk, directed only at him as they sit across the cafeteria table from each other. 

Totally worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter spiraled out of control. Whoops!

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me... Just doing a big fic dump.


End file.
